Vimes and the Vampiress
by duchess-susan
Summary: What turned Vimes to drink? Here is my answer to that immortal question...


**Just an idea, discussed in 'Comradeship Has Limits'. Please, please, please review and let me know what you think. Thanks to Fanless for advice etc.**

Vimes and the Vampiress

Vimes was already feeling out of place. Despite having attempted, not entirely unsuccessfully, to smarten up, he still received the impression that he belonged only as a member of staff in a place like this. Even the salt cellars seemed to project well-mannered arrogance. The discomfort was all worth it though. When he saw _her. _She always looked perfect, always in black, hair cascading down her shoulders, willowy figure, large grey eyes that seemed to look at the world as though they were surveying an empire...Vimes liked to think she looked like a what a winter day felt like, all that entrancing cold with a hint of dangerous promise. He was infatuated with that at least, the slight feeling that being with her was somehow even more perilous than policing Ankh-Morpork.

She never doubted herself for a minute. She was that kind of person. Her whole _species _were those kind of people. So self-assured, so confident, so in-control. And, if someone was with her she made sure her overwhelming confidence protected them too. Which was why none of the waiters commented on Vimes, or asked him, politely of course, to leave. And never return.

Vimes was awed by her confidence. Actually, come to think of it, he admired and adored all her features, or traits, or habits. Except for one. Occasionally, when she smiled, he hated it. On those occasions when she was darkly amused and smiled to show her _teeth_. Sometimes, when she did that, he thought wistfully of holy water. Not for very long though. The next thing she would do would make him forget.

_She was so graceful..._

Besides unless she was giving the impression of being particularly feral he enjoyed that side of her. Not many mere mortals could boast of dating a vampire. Especially one like Maria...

'Was this restaurant a good choice?'

'Yes. Although...' Vimes knew he had to ask, though it would probably do more harm than good. Somehow his mouth refused to stay shut. 'Why dinner? I mean it must be awkward for you, not to mention boring.'

_She was so beautiful..._

Lips twisted as though in confusion, or, just possibly, coupled with the flicker in her eyes, annoyance. 'Nothing is boring with you Sam.'

'That's one way of putting it, I suppose.' _Wow. I knew they went in for clichés but sheesh...exactly how unoriginal was that line? And do I even care?_

She laughed, a small, brief sound that faded from the memory even as it was contemplated. 'Yes. It is _the _way of putting it.' Her head was inclined slightly to one side, and though Vimes was certain she was looking _unwaveringly _right at him her attention appeared to be somewhere _else, _as though she could see right through him to something..._other, _something just beneath and so usual or vague that no one else would acknowledge it_. _

Maria was holding a glass of wine, elegantly but carefully. It was full. Vimes noticed things like that. Even though he suspected he shouldn't. Other details had caught his attention too. The baskets of garlic bread on every table. Except for theirs. Obviously. Maria would hardly appreciate it. He might though. He felt slightly guilty for thinking that. She smiled and a canine sparkled, for a split second, trespassing on her violently red lower lip. For a moment she looked intensely _predatory, _as though a new light source had revealed half-suspected shadows. Vimes felt attraction and instinct start a mental brawl which common sense and doubt joined for the hell of it.

He wondered if she knew how he hated _that _smile and if she did it just to make him angry. There are more ways than one to make a pulse race and Maria was fairly efficient at all of them when it came to Vimes. It was all about peaks of emotion, positive or negative became merely the fine detail. Lust, anger, primeval fear, exhilaration. So many more. Vimes was an exceedingly _emotive _person.

_She was so powerful..._

And then he wondered why this relationship was so warped. Surely he should _want _to make her smile, should see it as a goal to be achieved and savoured as often as possible. And yet...the simple arrangement of facial muscles repulsed him. A candle flickered and her eyes seemed to redden, shadows danced on her features, turning perfection into the grotesque, defiling beauty and leaving...Vimes lost the thought, the _warning._

Maria leant forward and sensed Vimes' heart step up a gear. So young. Full of all kinds of ambitions, of potential and she could _take _that, she could make it _burn_. The deep, ancient, _cold_ lust for destruction swamped her. She let it; it brought with it a state of mind like nothing else, a sheer and heady pleasure in watching the shards of something terribly precious fly. Her smile widened. His pulse redoubled. So _stupid..._

_She was so deadly._

Vimes fell backwards as he realised what she was about to do. As chair and man tumbled downwards his hands flailed. One grasped the tablecloth and dragged it downwards in a clatter of tableware. The other strayed onto a different table and gripped something vaguely rigid in the hope is was a stake. With a feeling of acute dread Vimes became aware that there was no time to stab, only to block the jaws plunging towards him. Bringing the object upwards into the path of the fangs he noted that he was bereft of a stake, and had, in fact, found a stick of garlic bread. Which Maria had bitten. She tried to scream around it, managed to slap Vimes, hard, and exploded into spinning motes of dust.

After a few seconds the room unfroze and a few distinctly unfriendly waiters forced Vimes to the door. A livid mark engulfed much of his left cheek.

'We regret that sir does not display suitable decorum for this establishment. Perhaps sir would consider Mr Dibbler in future?'

'Did you not just see that? She tried to _kill _me. And now you're throwing me out!' Vimes found his right hand had picked up something else on his march to the door.

'You abused the food sir.'

'So? She almost used me _as _food!' Vimes glanced at the waiters. Neither seemed concerned about the bottle he held. That was good. He wasn't about to put up with this kind of treatment if they were going to remove any alcohol in his vicinity. Possibly they realised this and had decided they weren't being paid enough to deal with a thirsty Vimes.

Vimes found himself on the street with the bottle for company. He dealt with this by meandering back to the Watch-house. It was the only way he knew of to cope with a lot of things...

_A state of mind like nothing else, a sheer and heady pleasure in watching the shards of something terribly precious fly..._


End file.
